


Somewhere I Belong

by Crimson Rosé (Poison_Rose)



Series: Tsukishima's Birthday Present from Crimson Rosé [3]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: #TsukkiBDayWeek2020, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Protective Kageyama Tobio, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Worth Issues, Trauma, Tsukishima Kei Needs a Hug, Who writes angst for a birthday?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:40:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26526118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poison_Rose/pseuds/Crimson%20Ros%C3%A9
Summary: It was his fault. Someone died, and it was his fault. Tsukishima was spiraling down into his mental shell as the phrase was repeated like a mantra.Prompts: DAY 4 –Strawberries| Music | Crows
Relationships: Kageyama Tobio/Tsukishima Kei
Series: Tsukishima's Birthday Present from Crimson Rosé [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1928803
Kudos: 65
Collections: TsukkiBdayWeek2020





	Somewhere I Belong

**Author's Note:**

> I mean, maybe writing angst for a birthday fic is a bit unusual (It's not a bad ending though), but this was what my brain gave me, so I dutifully typed them down.
> 
> Happy Birthday to our salty Tsukishima Kei!

Title: Somewhere I Belong

Prompts: DAY 4 – ~~Strawberries~~ | Music | Crows

The wind from a couple miles away caught on the burnt smell and carried it along to the village. The soft whimpering of warriors who came back with battle scars and fresh wounds was a continuous noise in the background. Tsukishima was used to all these, but he wasn’t used to the loses.

With a lyre in his hands, Tsukishima knelt beside yet another groaning man who had a firm grip on his left abdomen. His fingers graced over the string, playing soothing music that made the man breathe out in relief. The healer was with him, he would survive tonight.

As the first note rang, flat chartreuse magic circles appeared in a swirl under the man’s body and over his wounds, encompassing the injured man with soft green energy dusts. Another circulated around his wrists, joining the dozens of healing magic circle that was already there, and they were going to keep increasing as he went around to assess all of his patients.

Tsukishima played a gentle melody that was different from what he had played for the injured person before this man. He carefully crafted each note and cadence, which varied from person to person, coaxing the body and mind of the listener to response to the extra energy that he had offered.

Soon enough, the glowing particles were absorbed into the wound. Tsukishima observed as the man gained some color into his face and his shoulders relaxed. Judging from the extent of his injury, he would need about half an hour of healing, the blonde noted.

“How are you feeling now?” Tsukishima asked, trying to make a short conversation so the warrior in front of him wouldn’t be too anxious.

The man gave him a forced grin. “I’ve been better, but this is good enough.”

Tsukishima nodded and redid his physical assessment one more time, just to be sure. “It’s a big wound. Fortunately, the sword didn’t pierce through anything vital. You will need around half an hour of healing to survive and another half an hour to fully recover.”

“Huh, that was quicker than I’d thought,” the man laughed, but there was no mirth behind the sound.

The blonde stopped the hand that was playing music when the healing magic circle was completed. “Don’t move too much. I will come check on you in half an hour,” he said and stood up, moving on to another row of injured warriors.

When he finished constructing his healing magic to all the patients, six hours had passed. The wounds on some of the men were so grave that he spent an entire thirty minutes on each wound. Twenty-two magic circle had been added to the collection on his forearms, making them twenty-seven in total.

Twenty-seven injured warriors on his hand this time, and probably a couple more under other healers’ care. The numbers of the injured had been increasing in the past few battles, and Tsukishima wondered if they are losing.

With all the energy and magic he had used today, Tsukishima felt like he could sleep into next week. But as he looked at the brown paper in his hand, he knew it was impossible. Several men would be finishing their healing trance in the next hour, so he needed to check their recovery before sending them home.

Such was a life of a healer, Tsukishima sighed.

Three hours later, the last injured man was sent back to his unit, the sun was rising, and Tsukishima felt like his knees had turned into water. He unceremoniously probed down onto the chair in his tiny home and heaved a long sigh. So many of their warriors were hurt, so much blood, so many pained cries that Tsukishima could hear them in his ears even now. But he was also glad to see that no one whom he personally knew was at the healing tent.

Tsukishima decided to forego dinner that became breakfast, opting for sleep instead. He didn’t bother going to his bedroom since he was sure his legs would give out the first step he took. Placing a soft pillow on the space between the arm of his chair and the lamp table next to him, Tsukishima skid down a bit and rested his head on the pillow.

Sleep came to him like a harsh tidal wave, and before he knew it, everything faded.

☾☾☾

A loud bang on his door woke Tsukishima up from his rest in a not so gentle jump. He slowly pushed himself from the chair, feeling his neck creaked like old wooden door after a couple hour in an uncomfortable position. His shoulders ached as he brought his right hand up to fix his glasses.

Another set of bangs came. Tsukishima groaned, half-heartedly thinking that he should just ignore it and pretend that he wasn’t home but disregarded it as soon as it came, when he remembered that there was a battle yesterday. What if one of the men in other healers’ care got worse?

He opened the door and noticed that the sun wasn’t even in the middle of the sky yet. It was still morning. He’d probably gotten only three hours or so of sleep.

Looking at two angry women in front of him and trying to not glare at them, he asked in his best I’ve-been -awake voice, “How can I help you, Ladies?”

“How can you help me?! You have the nerve to ask that?! No you can’t!” One of the women shouted. That wasn't the response that he was expecting. Tsukishima winced as his ears rang from the assault. It was already bad enough that he was sleep deprived, now he had two red-faced women, whom he didn’t know, yelling in his face early in the morning.

“Uh,” Tsukishima tried not to be rude, he really tried, but he wasn’t in the mood to deal with any of this, “if you think I can’t help you, then why are you here?”

The other woman who hadn’t said anything yet looked at him with hatred burning in her eyes. She was a bit older than the other woman. “We want you to apologize.”

_For what?_ The blonde wanted to ask, but really, all he wanted was to go back and chase his good sleep, so he conceded, "I apologized for being rude?"

Instead of a split second of satisfaction that Tsukishima had expected, the two seemed even angrier, it that was possible. The younger woman stepped up and stared at him despite the height different. She pushed him hard, and Tsukishima, still heavily influenced by the lack of rest, was unprepared when his back crashed on the closed door of his humble home.

"You don't even know what you did wrong, do you?" She bit out, the sheer amount of spite in her voice was enough for Tsukishima to realized that she might be onto something more serious than he'd thought.

Quickly putting on his civil mannerism, the blonde replied, "No. If you can kindly remind me what this is about, I would appreciate it."

"You! It's all about you!" The younger woman yelled as she stabbed her finger at his chest. "My husband died because of you and your incompetence. And you don't care! You didn't even show face at his funeral."

Even if he was the best healer here, Tsukishima was well aware that he had his fails. Over the past two years since he had become a healer for the Crow Tribe, he had his own fair share of warriors whom he had failed to save. Such was the nature of human, fragile, fleeting, but it didn't make him any less regretful at the loss.

"Lady, I--" He cared. He remembered all of them, both people who died under his shaking hands and those who passed away under other healer's care, their names were carved onto his lyre to remind himself. Tsukishima only had one death on his record, so he knew exactly who she was talking about. He was about to give her an answer, but the women beat him to it.

"His name was Honra Kion. Does it ring the bell?"

Yes, it did. Tsukishima remembered Honra, a warrior from the frontline unit. He had sleek black hair that was tied into a ponytail. He'd almost gone to the other side already when his comrades brought him into his tent.

"Yes, Lady, I remember him. Honra Kion, the vice-captain of the Frontline Unit Kaminari. You must be Honra Ayumi-"

"Why didn't you save him?!" The wife shouted, her red eyes were brimmed with angry tears. Tsukishuma's heart suddenly got heavy. Honra's passing was just a week ago, she was still grieving. He vaguely recalled that the Honras were having a funeral two days ago, but he hadn't been able to attend. They'd had a battle, and he was called to the front line.

Grabbing him by both his arms, she violently shook him as tears finally ran down her cheek. Tsukishima noticed that her face was pale, and there was dark circles under her eyes. The tiredness that presented itself as wrinkles on her forehead was prominent.

"My son is only five! And he ask me everyday when his father will come back." She sobbed as words started slurring together. "Why aren't you better! If only you were better at your magic, he'd have survived!"

The women's hands crawled at his sleeves and hit his chest, while Tsukishima stood there and took it. His hands numbed by his side. He could see the grieve and sorrow in every fiber of her being.

He'd knew. He'd knew that Honra was beyond saving the moment his magic touch the man's skin and spread to assess the damages. His wounds were too grave, his lung pierced by a spear that was still attached to him. He lost too much blood. Several chunks of his limbs were gone because of explosive magic. A couple arrow heads buried at the back of his neck, dangerously close to his spine. He'd already had one foot into the door of afterlife.

Tsukishima'd knew that there was a better chance of his death than recovery, but Honra hadn't gave up. He looked at Tsukishima with eyes that clouded with pain, the eyes that said he had something important to go back to. That he couldn't die here.

So Tsukishima accepted his willpower and fought the goddess of the underworld for Honra's life. He poured in as much energy essence as the man's battered body could take to speed the healing process. He reassessed the arrow heads lodged in Honra's neck again and again to find some way to safely take it out. Tsukishima played the music that was crafted with his heart on the lyre, the most powerful and complicated piece he had dared to try, trying to snatch him back from the charred hand of the afterlife that had grabbed on Honra's wrist.

But it was all for naught. The light in Honra's eyes faded as he heaved his last breath. Tsukishima failed. He called the man's name uselessly as panic rose, hoping against fate that he would get some form of response. A grunt, a frown, a shaky breath. Anything. But he got none of those. Tsukishima continued to play his lyre with trembling hands. His melodies turned from soothing and encouraging to demanding. He demanded the afterlife to release its grip on Honra's soul, to give the man back to his love ones. His music could command people to heal, so why couldn't it command them to live?

Yet, he knew that death had no mercy. Once a person moved on to the land of the dead, they couldn't come back.

Losing himself in the failure, Tsukishima knelt there like a stone statue as the last bit of life energy in Honra's body dissipated and his last note faded into silence. His limp hands that was holding onto the lyre dropped onto his lap while his head was blank. It wasn't real. He refused to believe that he had lost the battle at which he was the best. Tsukishima was losing himself in the maze of shock and denial. Only the soft whimpering of other injured soldier jolted him out of his own tunnel. There were many other warriors who were waiting for his treatment.

Tsukishima pushes himself back on his feet and forced his legs to drag his body to the next person in row.

Honra's been fighting for his life, but because Tsukishima wasn't good enough, he was gone away forever. It was because of him. If Tsukishima was faster, more powerful, he could have saved the man's life.

"You should have tried harder! I heard you'd left him as soon as he stopped moving. Why didn't you continue? He could've just passed out!"

He died. There were others waiting. Tsukishima's rational mind supplied, but he couldn't help but think of what the Honra's wife said. What if he had been wrong? He had checked his vital five times, but what if he came back when he checked for the sixth time, the chance that he had never taken?

"I'm sorry," he croaked out, this throat was dry all of a sudden, "I…I tried my best, but-"

"Was that your best?" Honra's wife screamed back. Her nails crawled wildly at his neck. Tsukishima felt a sharp prick, and he knew they had drawn blood. "None of your patient ever died before, so why did it have to be him! Why can't you heal him like you did other warriors?!"

It was too overwhelming. Each and every one of her words cut on him like knife. They were the same thing that he had told and asked himself. And the only answer he had ever got was that it happened because he was useless. He had healed so many people, but what was the point of that accomplishment if one of them died? It was still a life that was lost.

Tsukishima squeezed his eyes shut as more screaming came his way, one more heartbroken than the last. Until one hard push caused the back of his head to bang on the edge of the door casing and he curled in on himself. His surrounding went dark, before it all swarmed back to him a second later. Then came the pain. Tsukishima's feet wavered as he grabbed the knob with his left hand to keep himself up.

He had done Honra and his family wrong, he knew, and he had no excuse. He had no right to complain when she was the one who took her husband's death the hardest. After all, he wasn't the one whose love and family was lost.

"What are you doing?!" A voice that was familiar to Tsukishima yelled from somewhere a little further away. It sounded angry, and Tsukishima wondered why. Was the owner of the voice mad at him too?

A mop of short black hair came into his view and pushed itself into a space between Tsukishima and the upset woman. Tsukishima noticed that the hands on him were gone, and the two visitors made a couple steps back.

“Kageyama-sama,” they greeted and bowed respectfully. “What brings you here?”

The women were polite to the high-ranking warriors in front of them, but Kageyama wasn’t having any of it. His blue eyes swept quickly across Tsukishima, resting a second longer on the blood on his neck, before turning back to them. “I asked. What are you two doing?”

“We’re simply having a conversation with Healer Tsukishima, Kageyama-sama,” the older woman answered. Now that Tsukishima was not focus on Honra’s wife, he could see the similarities between her and Honra. They were siblings, he realized.

“I might not be the smartest man in this tribe, but I know that a _conversation_ doesn’t usually involve shoving and hurting him.” His voice was tight as he said it, like he was trying to suppress an urge to hurt something.

“Kageyama-sama, Healer Tsukishima failed to save my brother’s live-” The sister opened her mouth but was cut off by Kageyama, who was starting to get an idea about what this was about. The blonde suppressed a flinch at the action. Despite his straightforwardness, Kageyama was one of the politest people around here. He almost never cut someone off when they were talking. What he just did was a proof that he was utterly upset.

But he should be. Tsukishima deserved it. He failed.

“Your brother is a warrior. His life is always at risk,” the raven interjected, each of his syllables seethed with fury. He stared at both women in the eyes. “I read Tsukishima’s report. He tried his best. Your brother was a lost cause.”

Kageyama remembered reading a report on the fallen soldiers last week. The consistently neat handwriting that he had seen from previous reports had turned into unstable characters. He could picture how badly Tsukishima’s hand had been shaking while writing it. He knew that this first death of his patient had deeply traumatized the blonde.

“He didn’t try, Kageyama-sama,” Honra’s wife gritted out, her eyes pierced through Tsukishima who was shielded behind Kageyama. “Healer Tsukishima had healed many wounded warriors whose conditions were much worse than my husband. So why is my husband different? It had to be because Healer Tsukishima made a mistake. Why would he die if it wasn’t because this useless healer couldn’t heal right?!”

Her gaze was dark, like she was spitting curses at the blonde with it. She raised her voice into a scream when she turned to address Tsukishima. “You outsider came to us and we had done so much for you. You had nowhere to belong, so Kageyama-sama brought you in. Even with your bright hair and eyes, we accepted you. And this is how you repay the Crow Tribe, letting one of us die?!”

Kageyama couldn’t listen to her assault anymore. _How dare she use his action to validate her own cause._ As more words poured out of her mouth, Kageyama could feel the blonde behind him shrunk back. He could understand that she was upset with losing the love of her life, but blaming her husband’s death on Tsukishima was not right.

“That is quite enough!” Kageyama raised his voice with a commanding tone that had put even the mightiest warriors in his unit in their places. The women flinched back, looking at him with wide eyes, but Kageyama gave them no mind. He snarled at them with the words that he knew was borderline insults. "On what ground are you accusing him for not trying and incompetence? Were you there at the healing tent? Or are you a healer? Do you know _a single_ healing magic?"

Kageyama took a couple breath to calm himself before he did something that he might not regret later. “Get out of my sight,” he gritted out.

They wasn't willing to back down. The sister tried to speak, “But Kageyama-sama, we need Healer Tsukishima to—”

“What else do you need from him? To bring your husband back?” He bit back, all sense of self-control lost in the heat of an argument. He stepped up to them threateningly, using his height that towered them as an advantage. Tsukishima tried to pulled on Kageyama's clothes to stop him for further scaring the two women. It wasn't like their wrath was baseless.

“Kage-”

Kageyama spoke as soon as the sister opened her mouth. “I declare this property under protection of the General’s Personal Guards. Anyone who is not allowed in by Healer Tsukishima or by me will be shot down _on the spot_.” He made sure to emphasize the last three words. It was an overkill, to use trained warriors for guarding a person's house, but these ladies kept testing his patience. “If you have any more problems regarding Healer Tsukishima, you will report to me.”

“But we—”

“And that starts _now_.”

When Honra’s wife looked like she was going to protest even after his clear order, the sister harshly held onto her arm and coerced her to back off. Apparently, she had a better sense of self-preservation.

Tsukishima watched everything unfolded with surprise and dread until the two women were out of sight. As soon as the miracle that allowed him to still stayed on his feet left, he collapsed with his hand still holding onto the doorknob.

Kageyama hurriedly held him and walked him back into the house, face laced with worry. He settled the blonde down on his bed and tilted his chin up to look at the bloody scratches on the side of his neck. Tsukishima suppressed a groan when his neck muscles pulled on the area where his head had banged against the door, but something in his face must have clued Kageyama, as he started touching the back of his head carefully.

“Did she hurt your head?” The raven asked and he combed through soft blonde lock. The advantage of having a hair shade so light was that he could see Tsukishima’s blond clearly.

“No, _I_ hurt my head,” Tsukishima answered while struggling to get away from Kageyama’s worried hands.

Kageyama rolled his eyes and Tsukishima narrowed his own at him. Give it to this arrogant prick to copy his gesture and turn it right back at him. “Don’t lie to me. I saw what happened.”

“Oh? And what did you see?” Tsukishima challenged. His usual smirk that seemed more tired and forced than ever decorated his lips.

“Those women…” Kageyama paused. He looked at the wary in Tsukishima’s brows and the overwhelming regret in his golden eyes. Guilt embedded in his posture like a relief carved onto a stone. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Tsukishima gave a dry snort. “Of course it is.”

Kageyama frowned. He slowly sat down on the bed beside Tsukishima, the body heat that radiated off of him calmed Tsukishima’s nerve a little. “No, it isn’t.”

“How could you be so sure?”

“Tsukishima, I’ve seen how you work. I’ve seen how you look,” he said slowly, making sure that the blonde could hear his every word clearly. He tried to catch Tsukishima’s eyes, but the other refused to look at him. “If you think I didn’t notice that something was wrong, you are underestimating me. It is haunting you.”

Kageyama knew how hard Honra’s death hit Tsukishima. He was Tsukishima’s first death after two years of becoming a healer for the Crow Tribe. He’d seen the regret in the blonde’s amber eyes, a shadow that followed him as the blonde built layers upon layers of self-accusation onto himself. He’d seen him refused to take a smidge of anything remotely resembling rest until all of his patients were sent back home safely. He’d watched the love of his life destroying himself over every minor injury on each warrior’s body, pushing himself to the limits until he was tearing apart at the seam. The fact that Tsukishima was always relied on, that he was consistent called for when ever a battle broke out, didn't help him either. The blonde was always needed somewhere, at the healing tent, at the frontline, even _in_ the battle field, not a single hour to himself as war became increasingly violent and devastating. Kageyama knew Tsukishima hadn't had a chance to properly grieve.

Despite his social awkwardness and limited vocabularies, Kageyama was more perceptive than people gave credits. He knew that Tsukishima wasn’t strangling himself to do better just because of his guilt, but also because he felt the need to prove his worth, to be of use to the place that he had called home. But it was difficult. People had a much higher standard when it came to Tsukishima. While deaths on other healer's hand might earn them sympathetic look from others and a gratitude from the dead warriors' family for trying, Tsukishima was met with accusing eyes at the market and traded insults behind his back.

Tsukishima wasn’t born in the Crow Tribe. He had light hair and light eyes, the extreme opposite of the Crows whose distinct features were dark hair and dark eyes. He belonged somewhere else, but Kageyama didn’t know where. Tsukishima had never talked about his tribe, and Kageyama didn’t ask. It wasn’t important.

Kageyama had founded him in the woods a little far away from the Crow Tribe. He’d followed the sound of peaceful music that came from deep within the forest and met Tsukishima. The blonde was alone, but he didn’t seem to be bother by it. Even though Kageyama was unfamiliar with arts, he knew that his music was like none other. It rubbed on him like his mother’s gentle hands and he felt like each note was talking to him personally.

They talked, and Kageyama was surprised by Tsukishima’s intelligence. The blonde also had a weird sense of humor and spoke with sharp sarcasm, but he couldn’t keep himself away. He felt the need to talk, to be in the Tsukishima’s presence. So he kept going back.

For months, he journeyed out of the village to just sat there and listen to Tsukishima’s soothing voice and music. They had developed something akin to friendship. Sometimes Tsukishima would heal his battle scars, and that was when Kageyama first discovered the ability of the blonde’s music. Some other times, Kageyama would bring food with him so that Tsukishima wouldn’t need to venture out for fruits. Kageyama stayed outside of the village longer each time they met. Until one day, the urge to stay closer got the better of him, and Kageyama asked if the blonde would come to the village with him. It had taken him another three months of persuasion for Tsukishima to agree.

All in all, the Crow Tribe was an inclusive tribe. What was internal stayed internal. What was external stayed external. Tsukishima was the first outsider who was allowed to stay in the tribe for an extended period of time. He even got a land to build his tiny home on. (Not without a huge flaunt of his position in the warrior units and an extensive fight with the elders on Kageyama’s part.)

Tsukishima had settled down quite peacefully, with Kageyama visiting almost everyday where he didn’t have to be in the frontline. But the raven general knew that Tsukishima hadn’t felt like he belonged. Most of the tribe got used to seeing blonde hair sticking out of the crowd, given his height, and treated him like they treated other Crows. But some people were extremely territorial. They would attack Tsukishima of his uselessness to the tribe, since he wasn’t a warrior and didn’t particularly have a job, and denounced Kageyama for bringing in a stranger who only wasted their resources.

Kageyama personally couldn’t care less. He knew he had done great deeds to the village and having another person living off of his assigned portion of food and money couldn’t even neutralize a quarter of the benefits that the tribe had got from his service. But Tsukishima cared. Kageyama was his friend, and he couldn’t stand how the other got dragged into defamation because he was being useless.

Kageyama remembered the shock on the elders’ face when Tsukishima volunteered to heal the Crow warriors for the first time. The injured eyed him with suspicion, not quite trusting the difference they had seen on the blonde. But his healing magic was far superior to any of the healers the tribe had, so they grudgingly acknowledge his ability. After seeing how good the Tsukishima was at healing, bigger and bigger portion of wounded warriors were sent to him whenever a battle broke out until the blonde had almost thirty patients in his tent while other healers had at most seven each. Kageyama didn’t like that. With how often they got into battles with the neighboring tribe in the past few months, they were overworking Tsukishima.

Sometimes Kageyama wondered if it would be better for the Tsukishima to stay in the forest. At least he'd been unburdened and free.

“Tsukishima, before you came, we lost at least five warriors from a battle every month. The healers that we had were not enough to treat them all,” Kageyama reasoned, “But ever since you became our healer, Honra was the only one we have lost in _two years_.”

_Because other healers transferred the critical ones to you as soon as they seemed to slip away_ , Kageyama thought darkly. While he was glad that no death had happened in so long, he didn’t like how the Crows disregarded Tsukishima’s hard work in saving other hundreds just because he failed to save one. They would have lost so much more if it wasn’t for Tsukishima.

Tsukishima stilled refused to meet his eyes. “That is not wrong, but if I’m better…”

“Stop it with that if I’m better thing,” Kageyama cut Tsukishima off before he could revert back to his self-destructive mindset. “People die all the time, Tsukishima. At least you give them a chance to come back. If not for you, they wouldn’t return at all.”

Tsukishima stayed silent for a long while. but when he finally looked up, Kageyama saw the grey clouds in his eyes cleared up a bit. It wasn’t completely gone, and he still looked unsure, but this was good enough. Tsukishima, despite his sharp edges and hard walls, was delicate. He was easily influenced by negativity and was suspicious at positivity. Yet, he was more opened if that positivity was brought on by Kageyama, his only friends and possibly more.

“Kageyama, can I…” Tsukishima didn’t finish the sentence, but Kageyama knew what he was asking.

Wrapping the taller man in a hug, Kageyama let Tsukishima put his chin on his shoulder and rocked the man gently. “You did great. It wasn’t your fault.”

Kageyama felt the patch of clothes at his shoulder getting damp and a pair of hands balling in his clothes, and he knew that Tsukishima finally allowed himself to grieve and cry, letting the sadness that was trapped inside his glass heart out to piece himself back together again.

Kageyama patted the blonde mop softly. Eventually, everything would be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> Come scream with/at me on Twitter @BlaBlaBla__Me  
> You can talk to me/ask me questions/request TsukiKage prompts anonymously here: [Drop Me a Message](https://curiouscat.qa/CrimsonRose_Monika)


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